


let music swell the breeze

by foggys



Series: La orquesta [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fourth of July, Gen, I Don't Even Know, another orchestra fic, but this time they're in marching band
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1897653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggys/pseuds/foggys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourth of July drabble, part of my orchestra!verse.</p><p>Bahorel is extremely American, Feuilly is relentlessly British, and they discover something about an important American patriotic song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let music swell the breeze

There's sound coming from Room 3.

Bahorel pauses, listens for a moment, and flattens himself against the bank of lockers. He quietly unlocks his own, hand digging inside his hat box to remove the long, thin object. He half-runs the seven feet down the empty hallway to Room 3, peeks through the small window in the door, grabs the door handle, and whips it open.

Feuilly pauses, finger stilling on the keyboard. "What the fuck."

Bahorel holds the object in front of him, arms straight, and advances slowly. "Who are you and what have you done with Feuilly?"

Said man rubs his hand across his face briefly. "Tell me that you are not pointing a toilet plunger toward me. And what. Are you wearing."

Bahorel ignores this. "I asked you a question, and I'll give you one chance to answer it."

The other man sighs, reaching up to straighten the sheet music on the piano. "I told you not to marathon _24_."

"Shut up, you're ruining it," whines Bahorel in an undignified, decidedly un-action-hero-y manner. "Jack Bauer is a god, okay. And this is the _handle_ of a toilet plunger. I took the mute part off. And this," gesturing to his glittery red-white-and-blue outfit, "is for Fourth of July, and I have to wear it before they make me take it off for marching band."

The redhead raises his hands and drops them back down in exasperation.

"Why," continues Bahorel, Bauer-like, finally lowering the toilet plunger handle, "were you playing 'My Country, 'Tis of Thee?'"

Feuilly stares at him. "What the hell is that?"

"What do you mean? You literally just played it!"

"I was playing the national anthem --"

"Okay, first of all, that is not our national anthem, it's 'Star-Spangled Banner' and we've been playing it for years so you should know. And second of all, I know it's Independence Day and all but you are British Polish, not American."

"Perhaps I had a surge of allegiance. In any case, I was playing my anthem, arsehole, not yours." Feuilly jabs at the title on the sheet music, and Bahorel narrows his eyes and leans in.

"'God Save the Queen'? What the fuck is 'God Save the Queen'?"

"The British national anthem."

"But no, look at the melody!" Bahorel shouts, sliding down on the piano bench and bumping Feuilly aside. He plays the first few bars. "This is clearly 'My Country, 'Tis of Thee'. You know, _my country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing_?" He squints at the paper. "The lyrics here are all wrong!"

"Wait." The redhead suddenly looks on the verge of hysterical laughter. "You're saying that the United States has a song of national importance with an identical melody to the British national anthem?"

"No..." says Bahorel slowly.

"Oh my god. _Oh my god_." Feuilly tips his head back and roars. "Americans! I can't believe it. First you take a song from a fucking gentlemen's club and use it as your national anthem, and now you're telling me that you took our national anthem and rewrote the lyrics? This country! Oh my god!"

"It's an act of defiance," Bahorel ad-libs. "Like... Like 'Yankee Doodle'."

"Right."

"It's ironic."

"Of course." Feuilly stands up and grabs his music. Bahorel follows him to the door.

"We Americans took your songs and created something better, like how we took your colonies and the term 'football'. We are laughing at you."

"We are rolling on the floor in mirth, Yankee." They go down the hallway, back to the locker room.

"You wanna go, bro? Let's go!" Bahorel pulls out the toilet plunger handle again.

"I do not need to exert myself in a lowly fight right before standing in the sun for three hours in this sweltering summer." But he grins and slips a drumstick between his hand and the hat box handle.

"Stop talking like that. You don't even have to march, drumline. Hey, ow, stop it, you're going to crush my shako!"

"Like Courfeyrac cares."

"He's drum major, he should care."

"But he doesn't."

"...true."

"So you admit defeat!"

"Admit defeat? Like you admitted defeat when we beat your asses out of our colonies?"

Silence on Feuilly's side.

"Ha! I win! Hey, hold the door for me, my hands are full."

...

"British asshole!"

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry about this. I'm both American and British in nationality but neither in blood, and I really, really have no idea if this is offensive or racist. Please tell me if it is, and I'll definitely fix it!
> 
> This is part of my orchestra!verse, where Les Amis are all in symphony orchestra. Bahorel plays trombone and Feuilly percussion, so I put them in marching band here.
> 
> Title from the third verse of "My Country, 'Tis of Thee."
> 
> Note regarding "First Movement": I might be rewriting it, and if I do, it'll be in one chapter instead of several. I'd love to hear your opinion on that!
> 
> Find me at iam-brick-pentameter.tumblr.com!


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